This started off as a joke between my friend and I but now I'm attached. Its a fairy!lock (if that's even what it's called) and mostly made for crack purposes. I don't think I'll continue with it because it's hard to write about mythical creatures but reviews are still appreciated xx

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any fairy version of him.

John opened the door to his flat and slowly shuffled inside, leaning on his cane to close the door behind him. Once inside, he removed his jacket and hung it up on the hooks beside the door. He chucked his keys on the desk to his left. Slowly, he walked towards his bed and leaned his cane on the bedside table. He sluggishly threw himself onto his bed and laid down; he was extremely tired. Going out was becoming more and more uninteresting to John. He didn't have many friends and therapy wasn't working. The pain in his shoulder wasn't going away with just a blog. There wasn't anything to wake up to; there was nothing for John to truly care about.

John was in limbo. Half of the days were passing by John so fast that he didn't even have time to recollect, it was somewhat of a dreamlike state. Some days, John would be sitting on the computer, for what feels like half an hour and the next thing he knows it's dark outside his window. On the other hand, other days slowly crept by. John would find himself counting the minutes, minutes that felt like hours and hours that felt like days.

John needed to get out of that god awful flat, London if he had to. He could barely afford London on an army pension. John rolled over in bed to his side and eyed his flat. Small and sad. Everything in the flat was dreary everything was colored a dull tan. A tan carpet, tan paint on the old walls, and tan curtains that isolated John in his flat. The kitchen was barely a kitchen. A few cupboards, a miniature fridge, and counter with plugs for his coffee maker. That's all he really needed in a flat for one. A desk sat against the middle of the wall opposite from John and his bed. If you opened the top drawer, you would find John's gun. He always kept a gun around him just for safe precautions. Plus, he didn't feel comfortable without one; he got used to having a gun in Afghanistan. On top of the desk was a clock and John's laptop, the one he was supposed to be writing a blog on. Writing a blog didn't help John. Nobody reads John's blog; why would they? Nothing happens to John, ever. John shut his eyes and began to doze off when his ears focused on the clock on the desk.

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.

The clock filled the flat and replaced the silence. John wrapped his arm around his head and pushed his head into his pillow. Why was the clock so loud? It had never bothered him before. Maybe he was finally going insane.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

John rolled over and tried to block out the sound, he would never fall asleep with the repetitive noise going back and forth. John was about to sit up when he heard a little click sound which was followed by silence. John tensed in the presence of the silence. Suddenly, an ever-so-quiet skittering sound immerged through the silence but it was gone as quickly as it started. John tensed and waited for the noise to happen again. Instead, John heard a soft flutter coming from the same direction. Immediately, John sat up in his bed and looked around the flat, the noises had stopped. Rats, John thought and sighed last thing he needed was a pest infestation. John thought the best idea was to go to Tesco and buy some sort of rat poison. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and began to walk over to his coat when the bottom of his coat began to shake. John touched his back pocket with his hands and traced the outline of his phone. Can't be the vibration, John noted. John took a step closer and the floorboards creaked underneath him. His jacket stilled at the creak. He slowly took hesitant steps towards the jacket, being as stealthy as he could. Once John was about arm's length away from his coat, he wiggled the jacket hoping something would fall out. The jacket remained inanimate. He shrugged as he took his jacket off the hook and put his arms through the sleeves. He was about to leave when he felt a sudden pain in his leg. John sighed, he'd forgotten about his cane. John pivoted to get it but sometime caught his eye. The clock on the desk was completely black, screen and all. John picked up the clock and flipped it over in his hands; the "On" switch had been switched "Off". How odd, John huffed. He stared quizzically at the clock for a few more seconds before placing it back in its place. He jammed his hands in his pockets and gasped. His left hand had hit something in his pocket and it was moving. John forcefully ripped his hands out of his pockets and spastically took it off, throwing it on the ground and jumping back. Okay, now I'm definitely going insane, John thought as he stood there panting. The jacket was twitching on the floor, particularly in one area. The fabric was surrounding whatever vermin was underneath. John stepped back took small, quick steps back towards his cane that was leaning on the table beside the bed. He picked the cane up but never took his eye off of the moving jacket on the floor. He silently inched over to his jacket with his cane in front of him. John and nudged the jacket with his cane. Whatever was underneath had completely stopped moving. John stood there and regained himself, preparing for whatever animal he would skitter out under the jacket but nothing did. Finally, John prepared himself and quickly flung the jacket up with his cane. The jacket hit the wall and slid to the floor.

"What the hell?" John whispered as he stared at the small creature that shivered on the ground. John took a step closer and eyed the bundle on the ground. It was facing the kitchen, wrapped in a tight ball on the floor. The creature looked about 4 or 5 inches and small enough to fit in John's hand. No fur, no tail, no round ears; nothing similar of a rat. Something was wrapped around it. John crouched down slowly but kept his distance. Wide eyed, he saw what was protecting the creature.

Wings.

One wing was wrapped around the creature's chest and the other was hanging close to its body, bent in a strange direction. The wing was wrapped around the small thing, shielding it from its surroundings. John assumed it had tucked its head down under the wings. John considered the possibilities: the wings looked as if they were those of a butterfly but certainly a butterfly would have been crushed by the weight of the jacket. They can't be bird wings, there are no feathers and John had never seen a bird so small.

John crouched in closer to get a clearer look. The wings were a dark shade of purple but were vaguely transparent and had this translucent shimmer to them. They also had these black lines that swirled throughout. Purple? What in the world has purple wings? John wondered curiously as he tried to deduce what was on his floor. The wings looked fragile but couldn't have been if it was capable of moving his jacket around on the hook just moments ago. John awkwardly tapped his cane on the floor in front of the creature to make it move. The creature immediately stopped shaking and tensed. John stood in silence and waited for the creature to do something else. After a few seconds of silence, the small creature slowly unwrapped its wing and turned around. John froze and his stomach did a flip.

"W-what the hell?" John stuttered as he fell back. The creature in front of him was a bit taller than John's middle finger and resembled a man. The little being had pale skin that resembled a marble statue and the small pointed tips of its ears stuck out between the dark brown curls that sat upon his head. It was wearing black bottoms and a purple button up shirt. John was dumbfounded, this 'thing' looked surprising similar to a human, other than its small stature and pointed ears.

It took a step towards John and John scrambled backwards, "You are not real. You can't be!" John yelled.

The wide eyed creature nodded and threw both hands up in front of him. It slowly took a couple small steps back away from John. John furrowed his eyebrows, the thing had understood him? It backed up when John had been frightened. It slowly walked towards the desk and made an attempt to fly but just winced and fell. It crawled back up from off its knees and patted down its curls. It turned back to John and pointed towards the desk. John just blinked at the thing, not daring to move. The creature rolled its eyes and pointed back towards the top of the desk eagerly. Then, he put one arm in front of him and used his other hand to tap a finger on his wrist.

"The clock?" John croaked. Great, now he was playing charades with the thing.

The creature nodded its head then pointed to John's bed. It pointed at John and brought both hands up to the side of its head and leaned against them, closing his eyes and pretending to sleep.

"Yeah, I was trying to sleep," John agreed, "but what does that have to do with the clock-"John let his sentence drag off. Suddenly, it hit him.

"You turned the clock off because thought it was bothering me?"

The little creature nodded up at John and smiled. John's jaw dropped, he was still in shock about the whole situation. Oh, god. How am I supposed to explain this to Ella? John thought.

"Well, erm, thank you."

John didn't even notice realize that he was smiling too. It was funny to John how this thing cared more about John than anybody else he knew. John held up his hand and studied it. His tremor had temporarily disappeared. He waited for the pain in his leg but that was gone also. Could it really have been because of the mysterious creature in the middle of his flat? As crazy as it was, John felt bad for it. When John had shoved his hands in his pocket, he probably injured its wing.

John glanced back to the creature and said, "Would you like me to wrap that up for you?"

The creature looked back at its broken wing and nodded at John. John scooted over to the little man and stuck his hand out on the floor in front of it. The man hesitantly climbed into John's hand and John's heart fluttered at the feeling of miniature hands grabbing on to him. He looked at John and sat down in the middle of his palm. John brought his other hand up as a barrier for extra protection. John carefully stood up and placed his hand on the top of his desk. The little man jumped off of John's hand and sat with his legs crossed and dangling over the edge of the desk. John opened the bottom drawer and set his medical kit next to the creature. John sat down in the chair that went with the desk which made it easier to reach him and his chest was diagonal with the little man. He had no idea how he was going to wrap the wing up but it was worth a try. He took out the medical tap and cut about 10 inches of it. He stood there with the tape in his hands trying to figure out how to start the wrapping.

"Hold still," John ordered as he began to wrap the tape around the broken wing as straight as he could. The wings felt different from what John imagined. They were as thick as a butterfly's but as strong as a bird's. The little man cringed at John's touch but didn't oppose.

"Do you talk, then?" John asked as he wrapped the wing.

"Obviously, but talking is boring," sighed a deep, monotone voice, "Plus, it's difficult to hear from a distance and I wasn't going to take the chance." John was taken aback by his voice. It was not what he expected from such a small creature. John stared at the man; he had his little hands steepled under his chin and his eyes were closed. He looked very calm for someone who just broke one of their main means of transportation.

As John was finishing up, he stuck the end of the tape under the most recent layer. "All done," John said, clapping his hands together, "Does it feel right?" The little man flapped his wings lightly and nodded.

"So, do you have a name?" John asked.

"Of course. The name is Sherlock Holmes and I'm something you may call a 'fairy'."

John just stared at him in shock. Again, he found himself feeling insanity creeping up. This felt too real for a hallucination or a dream but none of this was logical at all. It was dawning on John that he had just bandaged up a wing for a fairy who shut off his clock because the ticking was bothering him. John rubbed the bridge of his nose. All of this was giving him a headache.

"So," said Sherlock, "You have questions, I assume."

John scoffed, "That's an understatement."

"Well, I imagine this is difficult for a soldier to believe and even harder for a doctor."

John snapped open his eyes and slowly turned his head to stare at the man, "How could you possibly have known that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But the way you offered to wrap my wing says you like to help the injured, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists — you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk, but you didn't need it before when your adrenaline was high, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic — wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan-that leaves the final question, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John's jaw dropped, how did that little creature know, or rather see, everything about John's life? It took some people months to learn that much about John. They hadn't even had a proper conversation yet. John sat in silence for a couple of seconds while he absorbed what Sherlock had just said, still dumbfounded at the great intelligence of the little thing.

"That was amazing," John complimented slowly.

Sherlock was taken aback and slowly turned to look at John, "You think so?"

"Of course it was," John reassured, "It was extraordinary. You are quite... extraordinary."

Sherlock chuckled, "That's now how people normally react."

"How do people normally react?" John asked.

"They scream." Sherlock said with a smile.